Love Wins
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Between Brothers. Jack Dalton only thought he understood fear. When his brother is taken by a man bent on revenge, he finds it has an entirely different dimension, one that no amount of training or weaponry can hope to conquer. It will require an entirely different defense and working with a man he considers his enemy if he has any hope of saving Mac.
1. Chapter 1

Love Wins

By: Ridley C. James

* This story is part of the Between Brothers Universe. You should read Fireflies in the Rain before attempting this one or you may be lost.

A/N: I remember the first time I couldn't find my child. Before that breath-stealing, time-stopping moment I had only known the panic of temporarily losing sight of a beloved dog when they had managed to get off leash. As awful as that experience was, not knowing where my daughter had disappeared to was a thousand times worse. We were at a mall, and she'd only cloaked her mischievous two-year old self in a rack of clothes. I had not understood mind reeling, heart stopping panic until then. She was gone but a minute or two, so I can't fully comprehend the desperation and pain that an extended separation and torturous 'not knowing' would bring. Nor do I ever hope to delve such depths of angst and heartache, except for fiction on the written page. It is with great reverence that I pursue this story that I hinted at in an Epilogue I wrote for it in early spring titled Fear is a Liar. It does concern the kidnapping of a child, so if that is a trigger for you, please use self-care before reading. To all those who have ever faced the unthinkable. As always, Mary made this so much better with her editing wand!

RcJ

"As soon as the fear approaches near, attack and destroy it."-Chanakya

Twenty-five-year old Jack Wyatt Dalton knew a thing or two about dangerous weapons. He was skilled in combat, a savant of sharpshooting. Thanks to Delta Force Jack was almost as deadly in hand to hand combat as he was with a gun. He could wield a knife and fire a grenade launcher with precision. His body was lethal. Rocks or sharp objects manipulated with the right force and momentum could also cut a man down where he stood. But the vetted soldier turned CIA operative had never once considered a well-worn, much-loved red Chuck Taylor an instrument of destruction. That was until the moment he was holding his little brother's soggy solo shoe and felt his heart falter, his lungs refuse to work. He might as well have taken a hit dead mass with a bullet from a sniper's rifle.

"Dalton? Is it his?"

Matilda Weber's voice drifted to Jack from some far off space, a vast distance that defied logic seeing as how they were standing mere inches apart. He could smell her spicy perfume, hints of vanilla and something from the wild woods. She was close enough to hand him the shoe, like she'd pulled the pin from a grenade and gently passed it over to her fellow agent with no remorse for the damage it would do.

"Jack?" Sarah's familiar voice seemed somehow painfully closer, even though she wasn't physically present, but on the big flat screen of the conference room, watching the show via the computer link Weber had established with Jack's team, who were currently in the air making their way home from their latest mission.

Even from the plane, midair, if she had only looked closer, Sarah would have recognized the shoe. It was in fact a part of the very pair she'd purchased for Jack while he was still in Afghanistan, delivering them two Christmas Eves ago along with the other books, gadgets and remote control assortment that Jack had wired her money to purchase in hopes the gifts would somehow make up for him being in a desert 8,000 miles away while his family celebrated the holiday without him.

"Where?" Jack managed hoarsely, staring at the laces still precisely looped. It had been years now, but he easily recalled all the times he'd practiced that technique with his then five-year old brother because Mac had been terrified that he'd be quizzed on the process his very first day of kindergarten, along with knowing their address and phone number. Their mom had used to sing-song a poem about a bunny, but not Jack.

 _Build a tee pee, come inside_

 _Close it tight so we can hide_

 _Over the mountain and around we go_

 _Here's my arrow and here's my bow!_

Mac, who was a little obsessed with the Wild, Wild West at the time- thanks to their grandfather's influence- had latched onto his big brother's version and learned the life skill in no time. Sometimes Jack still caught the ten year old muttering the rhyme under his breath when he'd tie his laces.

"In the lake, not far from where the class stopped to picnic," Matty's typical matter of fact manner brought Jack from thoughts of the past. He swallowed hard, clearing his throat. He'd not missed the uncharacteristic catch in the other's voice, a small thread of emotion even Operations Officer Weber couldn't keep from lacing through her reply. Jack didn't know much about his handler's personal life, but in a rare moment of transparency when Mac had been in the hospital sick with the flu in February she'd mentioned having a Goddaughter the same age. The rare smile that lit her face when she'd actually showed up with a coloring book and markers told Jack more than the simple admission. Matilda Weber, despite all the hushed whispers to the contrary and the disturbing nickname, had a heart.

"What else?" Jack knew there was more, his grip tightened around the fabric of the shoe, his knuckles turning white. He could read people, knew when they were feeding him small bites.

"Jack." Sarah's dis-embodied voice filled the room once more, her tone too compassionate, intimate. It was almost Jack's undoing.

Jack ignored her, didn't dare look up at the screen. He could practically feel his ex's gaze, the concerned stares of the others. He couldn't bear to see the sympathy in Sarah's dark eyes, let alone that of Clay's and Franks. He hadn't worked with the men long, but in the three months they had come together he'd saved their lives and vice versa. Adversity built quick bonds, made strangers family, but Jack didn't want or need their pity not when he was on the verge of flying apart. He clenched his hand around the shoe and met Weber's unwavering gaze.

"You wouldn't have called me in here for just an ID of a shoe, Matty. You could have sent me a picture. You also wouldn't be pulling our team early from wrapping an on-going mission."

"We found a Dodgers jacket in the woods," Matty confessed, her eyes never leaving Jack's. "There was blood on the sleeve. Forensics shows it wasn't Mac's."

"That's good news." Jack's legs seemed to lose all ability to hold his weight and he leaned heavily against the conference table behind him. His heart thundered in his chest painfully, the tight band of dread around his lungs further restricting his ability to take a breath. Since Angus's disappearance three days before, Jack had insisted the kid had been taken by his absentee father. A theory his own people had been frustratingly slow to accept, but one the local authorities had jumped on a little too haphazardly, eluding to the possibility that James MacGyver might harm his son. "I told you James wouldn't hurt his kid, not intentionally. He's a lot of things, but I know he loves my brother. Maybe some animal picked it up or…"

"It wasn't an animal's, Dalton." Matty sighed, propping a hand on her hip. "At least not one that typically roams the local forests." Her gaze went momentarily over Jack's shoulder, then refocused on him, a frown of determination settling on her pretty face. "The blood belongs to Nicholas Helman and we believe it was from a defensive wound he may have garnered when Mac fought him after your brother realized what was happening." Matty took one more thing from the evidence bag she'd brought in with her and placed it on the table near Jack. It was Mac's Swiss Army Knife. The one Jack had given him for his birthday. "This was nearby. The blood on the blade matched the sample from the jacket."

Jack shook his head slowly, finding it hard to picture the scenario his handler was explaining. His fingers tightened yet again around the rough fabric of the shoe, the wet weight in his hand grounding him. Mac once told Jack that Harry said a SWAK could get him out of any situation, but Jack had never considered his brother would ever need to use it against another human. He swallowed the bile that had risen to the back of his throat.

"That name doesn't mean anything to me, Matty. Who the hell is Nicholas Helman?" Jack would make it his mission to kill the man as soon as possible.

"Nicholas Helman is the legendary Chairman of the Board for HIT." Clay was the one to answer.

Jack turned to frown at the screen. "HIT?"

"Homicide International Trust." It was Frank's turn to chime in. "It's a legendary elite association of hitmen. The only consortium of its kind."

"That sounds like something out of a Spike Lee comic." Jack ran his free hand over his mouth, the three days growth of beard rough beneath his palm. He faced Mattty once more. "What the hell would this Helman and HIT want with my ten year old brother? Does this have to do with one of our missions? Some job I've pulled?" The thought nearly had him bending double, losing what little breakfast Harry had practically forced him to consume.

"We think Nicholas Helmand kidnapped Angus to get to me."

The answer was delivered by a new voice, one that had Jack once more spinning to see the screen behind him, vein-bulging adrenaline flooding his system. His team was gone, having been replaced by the larger than life version of a man he hadn't laid eyes on in months, almost a year now. James MacGyver.

"Sonofabitch." Jack took a faltering step, the image of Mac's father threatening to shatter whatever control he'd managed to keep over his strained emotions. He felt a tremor run through him, a coldness invade his system as if someone had injected ice water into his veins via an invisible IV. "What the hell…"

"I know you have questions," James held Jack's gaze, looking as if they exchanged pleasantries daily. Jack's entire body went rigid. He prayed for not the first time that he might just wake up from this hellacious nightmare. It was bad enough when he believed the man before him was responsible for his brother's disappearance, but to now have proof that Mac was not among family, with someone he loved, nearly drove a sob from Jack's burning chest. James's frown deepened, his eyes searching Jack's. "I'll answer what I can when you and Weber get here."

"Questions?" Jack choked on the word. A week ago he might have wanted answers to about a hundred different things he could have asked the man now magically in front of him thanks to CIA technology. At the moment he only desired one thing. Mac. Jack's jaw clenched, his eyes burned as he met James calm, steady gaze. "What did you do!"

"As I said, I'll explain everything when you arrive." James gave a brief nod. "I promise."

Jack opened his mouth to say exactly what such a promise meant coming from a lying bastard who had abandoned them but James's image was suddenly replaced once more by that of Sarah and his team. For a fleeting moment he worried he'd imagined it all, that he'd finally cracked under the pressure; that the all-consuming terror he'd endured the last few days had managed to obliterate his tenuous grasp on sanity. Fear was an insidious enemy. Freddy had warned him. Jack blinked, focusing back on Sarah.

"Jack, what happened? We lost contact." Sarah's worried voice had him taking a deep breath, shaking his head as if he'd been slapped. She looked relieved to see him again, but Jack quickly averted his eyes to Clay Craddock- his partner- the man who'd helped pull him from Afghanistan, the first contact he'd had with the CIA, the person responsible for bringing him to The Farm and subsequently so it seemed to James MacGyver.

"Did you know, man?" Jack consciously relaxed his grip around the Converse, his muscles cramping. His voice was cold.

Clay didn't have to even answer because the man's lack of confusion at the random demand was evidence enough. "Not in the beginning, brother. I was just following orders."

"What's he talking about?" Frank asked, his gaze going from Clay to Jack and back, brow raised. Craddock might not have shared the information with Frank, afraid it would become pillow talk between him and Sarah, who most definitely would have told Jack. Despite the ways Jack had screwed up and that she had seemingly moved on with Sutton, Jack had no doubts she would still have his back.

Craddock gave one of his trademark, devil may care shrugs. "I'm guessing our boy Dalton just got debriefed by the man who gave the go to pull him from the desert."

"I don't understand," Sarah chimed in as she glanced from Clay to Jack. "Matty made that happen."

"You lied to me." Jack was still talking to Craddock, who had the good grace to look as abashed as Jack had seen him, and from a man that had a whole hell of a lot to feel guilty about and very little natural inclination to do so, he supposed that was saying something.

"Only when I had to," Clay confessed, holding Jack's gaze. "It's the nature of the game, Wyatt. We're all damn good liars."

"Fuck you," Jack growled, pointing a finger at his partner. "Don't call me that ever again. Do you understand? Only family has that right, and you are no longer family to me." He whirled to face Matilda, rage quaking through him in such a way that he forced himself to take a few steps back so the woman was safely out of his reach. "That goes double for you, Matty the Hun."

Weber looked unaffected by the outburst, which just pissed Jack off even more. If she'd been a man, he would have laid her flat. Almost still considered it, knowing that the infuriating woman could probably take a punch better than Craddock and come back with more piss and vinegar than the former SEAL.

"Do you really want to cry about how a couple of CIA agents trained in the business of espionage actually created an elaborate cover story to arrange for you to leave the Army and return to your family, Dalton, or do you want to go meet with the man who just might be able to help us bring your brother home safely?" Matty didn't give him time to answer, dangerously closing the distance between them though Jack knew she understood the risk she was taking. She had the sheer nerve to place a hand on his arm and in that moment Jack hated her. Instead of lashing out the small shoe got the brunt of his anger, the sole bending slightly under his tightly flexed digits. Matty lowered her voice, gentled it in a way that had Jack aching for his grandfather, because he recognized the tone as one JP Dalton used when trying to get an injured horse to understand he was attempting to help. "Because trust me when I say if Nicholas Helman has Mac then we're going to need the best to get him back, and James MacGyver, despite what you think of him, is the best at what he does."

Jack wanted to ask what exactly his step father did for the CIA, but held back because the truth of the matter was he didn't care. Not at this instant. Not about any of it! He could have honestly found out his own father had risen from the grave like Lazarus and had finagled Jack a way out of Delta and it wouldn't have made one damn bit of difference. Not when Jack was holding Mac's wet Converse, not when he'd gone three terrifying days without seeing the kid's face, or hearing his voice, or ruffling his hair... Three days when every ring of the phone elicited the prospect of news Jack didn't think he could handle. He suddenly felt stripped of any energy, doffed of all thought. Three days without knowing if his kid was dead or alive…How was that even fucking possible.

"That's what I thought." Matty huffed, tugging at the ends of her jacket. She'd misread his silence, the gutted look Jack was certain now marred his face. She turned her eyes to the screen, addressing her team. "I'm sending you information on Nicholas Helman and his known HIT associates. Tracking his movements over the last few months is now your priority mission. We'll rendezvous later at coordinates I'll relay when Dalton and I are in route." She didn't give them time for a response, turning on her heel and starting for the door.

"Jack?" Sarah called, voice uncertain, strained.

Jack didn't answer. Didn't dare turn around. Instead he gently placed his little brother's shoe on the conference table, his fingers ghosting one last time over the laces. He picked up Mac's knife and slid it into his pocket before he followed Matilda Weber out of the room.

 **Three days earlier…**

Jack Dalton slowly awoke to the sensation of being watched. It wasn't the danger-invoking, spidey-sense prickling that he sometimes encountered as a trained sniper for the Army, one that allowed him a heightened sense of other predators in the area. No, this was just creepy.

He cracked his sleep-caked lids open to find a shadowy figure skulking a few feet from his bed, merely observing, waiting for him to awake.

"Damn, Angus, why do you have to do that?" Jack growled, slinging an arm over his face to block out the sight of every horror movie image of the quiet, little kid from Poltergeist just lurking.

"It's Mac," the ten-year-old quickly reminded his brother that he no-longer responded to his first name, not since his birthday almost a year before. Jack could practically hear the shrug in his voice and not one ioda of apology. "I just stand here and wait for you to wake up because you tell me to never try and wake you up."

Jack sometimes bemoaned his brother's rule-following. He'd given those instructions when he'd first started coming home from tours in Afghanistan, back when Mac was smaller and prone to crawl into bed with his big brother, back when Jack didn't trust himself not to strike out during the onslaught of nightmares and flashbacks he'd brought back with him. Even now, a few years older and wiser, with a better grip on the baggage he carried from the war, he still wasn't completely confident Mac was safe, at least not when Jack was tangled in the throes of sleep.

Mac, now assured Jack was indeed awake, bounced onto the bed, along with his puppy partner in crime, Archimedes. The dog, which for all intents and purposes, only moments before appeared like an apparition from Pet Cemetery in the barely dawn light now attempted to lick Jack's face, tail wiggling.

"Stop," Jack drew out the word in exasperation, trying to roll over and bury himself in the covers. "Go away."

"Archimedes missed you," Mac observed with a giggle and an alertness that should not have been possible in the wee hours of the day. "He's glad you're finally home."

Jack got the distinct impression Archimedes wasn't the only one happy with his return. He'd missed the kid, too, but the fact he'd only gotten into bed a few hours earlier, having endured an eleven hour flight home from a mission, was currently coloring his enthusiasm for a rare weekend at home with his brother. Which reminded him…

"Damn. It's Saturday, dude," he grumbled, hoping the kid would get a clue, the bed still too warm and comfy to think about getting up. "Go eat cereal. Watch Bugs Bunny. Read an encyclopedia, whatever rocks your boat, Carol Anne."

"It's six A.M."

Jack lifted his head, blearily glaring at the boy who was now lying beside him, still staring with wide blue eyes. "Why?" Jack knew the question came out as a whine. Twenty-five year old men shouldn't whine but he couldn't help himself. Twenty-five year old men should also be awoken in the morning by a beautiful woman, not their kid brothers and canine counterparts.

"Because it takes 23 hours, 56 minutes and 4.0916 seconds for the Earth to turn once on its axis." Mac propped himself up on one elbow, already thrumming with energy. "Earth's rotation on its axis is what causes us to experience day and…"

"No, genius," Jack cut off the kid's intellectual spiel, knowing good and well his brother was purposively poking at him. He placed his hand over Mac's face and gave a little shove. "I mean why are you waking me up at the butt crack of dawn on a freaking Saturday?"

"Because it's _STEM_ Saturday." Mac wasn't deterred by the rebuffing, rebounding with all the exuberance of a frolicking puppy.

"Of course." Jack fell back against the pillows, not at all clued in to what 'STEM Saturday' entailed or why in the hell it meant he should be awake. It sounded vaguely familiar. Mac climbed half on top of him, undeterred by his grumpiness. Jack stifled a groan when the kid's elbow dug into his sore ribs. He was glad he'd left his t-shirt on, thankful his brother wouldn't have a hundred questions about the bruises that colored Jack's side Pollock style. As far as Mac was concerned Jack worked security and as a pilot for a bunch of important people in Los Angeles. He didn't realize his brother's actual 'new job' was almost as dangerous as Afghanistan. For that, Jack was grateful. He reached up and ruffled the kid's hair. "Is that like Taco Tuesday?"

"It's better than Taco Tuesday." Mac huffed, patting his blond locks back into place.

"I doubt that, bud," Jack grumbled, once more shoving at Archimedes who was again lavishing him with tongue love. He scrubbed a hand over the wet spot on his cheek. "I freaking love Tacos."

Mac gave a familiar sigh, the one that often told of what Jack imagined his disappointment at having such a simpleton for a brother. "Jack, Mr. Ericson explained all about it at the open house at school."

"How about you give me a short debrief." Even with Mac's kind prompting, the one which obviously was meant to help Jack save face and not look completely inept at being a parent, Jack remained clueless. In his defense, he'd taken a hard blow to the back of the head on the latest mission and there was also the fact that as with most 'parent-type' activities, open houses at his brother's school for instance, Jack often spent a lot of the night feeling completely inept and out of his element. While car-pooling moms made chit chat about spring vacation plans and the dad's talked little league and the other upcoming spring sports, Jack had worked hard at not looking like a complete poser. Fitting in took up a lot of his mental energy, then there was Abigail, the very overly friendly young single mom who'd offered to show Jack the ropes of the PTA inner circle …

"It's a series of special fieldtrips for advanced students that focus on math and science concepts," Mac filled in, a forgiving grin lighting his face. He punched Jack's shoulder, barely able to contain his obvious excitement. "We're going to the math museum in LA today. They have a special travelling exhibit with a grand scale Mobius strip and trefoil knot. You promised we'd eat at Mama Colton's before taking me to meet the bus."

"Right. morpheus strips and truffle knots." Jack did groan now, rubbing a hand over his face. Damn. He'd forgotten. The meeting had been a few weeks before at a time when he wasn't sure what job he'd be doing, or even if he'd be on the same continent when the trip rolled around. "Now I remember."

"Should I just get Harry to take me?" Mac offered, half-heartedly, disappointment seeping into his voice. Jack looked up at the change in tone and noticed his brother had mindlessly twisted his fingers into folds of Jack's shirt, something he'd done when he was much smaller and uncertain about a situation. "I heard you come into my room to check on me last night. I know you've been gone a whole week and it was really late so if you…"

"Are you kidding me?" Most of Jack wanted to take Mac up on the offer, to just roll over and let Harry slide into the parental seat for the day, but the whole reason Jack had left Afghanistan was to be more available to his kid brother. Mac's grandfather already pulled more than his fair share of the weight, even though Jack now had legal custodial guardianship. Jack couldn't very well be what Mac needed if he was rolled up like a burrito in his bedspread and he couldn't bring himself to be the cause of one more disappointment for the kid. Even something as small as breakfast before a school trip was paramount in Jack's opinion. If making Mac happy wasn't a priority mission, he might as well still have been bunkered down with Boxer and the rest of his Delta unit thousands of miles away. Jack raised up on his elbows, thankful when his body didn't protest the movement. "I have been thinking about those pancakes since I left for Japan, bud. Thanks for reminding me."

"Did you have sushi?" Mac asked, his enthusiasm rebounding once he realized Jack wasn't going to back out of their deal. He quickly added, "Did you bring me something from Mt. Fuji?"

"Hell to the no on the raw fish and does a postcard with a picture of Mt. Fuji count?" Jack hadn't really been near any touristy venues in Asia but Sarah had magically procured a few trinkets that would satisfy Mac, and back up his cover in the process. He'd even brought Harry back a lighter disguised as a fire-breathing dragon.

"It'll work," Mac moved out of Jack's way so the other man could swing his legs over the side. He stayed close though, hovering just out of reach. It was something that Jack had noticed happening when he'd been gone more than a few days at a time. Mac seemed to believe that Jack might disappear again, and the fact that the kid had to worry about the people he loved most leaving had Jack's chest aching for reasons that had nothing to do with the blow he'd taken to the sternum during his throw down with a few ninja-wannabes. He reached out and bumped his fist against Mac's jean-clad knee. "By the way, brother, how could you leave out the fact that the city of Kawasaki has a Penis Festival from that whole interesting lecture you gave me on Japan?"

Mac rolled his eyes in mock exasperation but Jack didn't miss the fact that his face colored slightly, the spattering of freckles standing out in dark relief against his baby brother's embarrassment. It was exactly the reaction Jack had been hoping for. "Because I was focusing on the important things like Tokyo being the biggest city in the world, and how Japan is actually made up of over six thousand islands."

"So random cultural facts aren't crucial when travelling?" Jack couldn't resist the ribbing, certain that the big brother/little brother normalcy would be good for both his smarting body and Mac's worries.

The kid's face took on a sudden look of complete seriousness. He considered his job of briefing Jack on whatever locale he might be visiting in the line of duty as a task of upmost importance. "I made sure you knew that it was polite to slurp your noodles, that tattoos are not considered cool, and instead of shaking hands you should bow. I even warned you about the cafés that offer cuddling sessions."

"All of which served me well, brother." Jack's mouth twitched, breaking into a full on grin. "I'm the last guy who wants a cuddle from his server, unless I'm at Hooters mind you, but just so you know for next time, a guy should also probably have a heads up if he's going to encounter some bizarre life-size balloons and costume clad people on the street. It was a whole other kind of Coz-play. They even had sandwiches shaped like…"

"Please tell me you didn't bring me _any_ postcards from there." Mac's frantic interruption and horrified expression had Jack laughing out loud.

"No." Jack stood, stretching, hiding a grimace when he realized it was still pitch dark beyond his window. He flashed his brother a smirk. "But I did think about getting Harry a very disturbing Pez dispenser."

"I'm not sure he would have liked that," Mac folded his arms over his chest. "Harry doesn't really think body humor is funny. He didn't even like the very anatomically correct voodoo doll you brought him from Haiti."

"The whole point of bringing Harry back something is to rile him up, bud. I'm just returning the favor for all the useless things he sent me when I was in the desert."

"They weren't useless," Mac pointed out. He bent down rubbing his hand over Archimedes ears. Even in the darkened room Jack could practically see the shadow settle onto the kid's features, an invisible weight light onto his slim shoulders at the talk of Jack's time in the Army. "Harry called them mindless and he said sometimes the terribleness of war made it really hard for boys to remember there were simple things to enjoy."

Jack thought about the Chinese finger puzzle he and Boxer had spent way too much time trying to figure out, the Yo-Yo and the outrageous amount of comics that came stuffed in the bottom of care packages that he and his team took turns reading. He hadn't really considered the thought which Harry had put into the gifts, but as usual, Mac's perspective shed light onto a situation in a new way.

Jack squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Maybe we should pick Harry up some of Mama Colton's homemade cinnamon rolls while we're at the diner. Give the old man something he might actually enjoy."

Mac's genuine smile returned. "Now that I think he would like that."

Jack was certain Mac's grandfather _would_ have enjoyed the treat, too, that was if Wilt Bozer hadn't confiscated both the rolls. Mac's best friend had apparently not been as excited or eager as his pal to crawl from the covers on this bright and early Saturday and had only made it to the school on time because his father had finally ordered him from the bed. Jack was pretty sure the colorful pants the kid was wearing was actually Bart Simpson pajama bottoms but with Bozer one could never be certain.

"Thank you again for the save." Bozer's dad smiled at Jack, gesturing to the roll his son was feasting upon. "His mom had him a yogurt and granola laid out on the counter, but Mr. Sleepy Head forgot it along with his backpack." The man rubbed a hand affectionately over his son's head. "At this rate I'm pretty sure he's still going to need her to hold his hand in college."

Bozer beamed around a mouthful of cinnamon roll instead of showing any sort of mortification. Jack supposed the kid hadn't quite reached the age where such a statement elicited ingrained horror, nor did his father's tactile affection bring an avalanche of embarrassment. Jack glanced at his brother, noticing there was no hint of empathetic humiliation on his best friend's behalf either, but instead a definite look of longing. Jack knew it had nothing to do with wanting the pastry and maybe everything to do with missing his dad.

"No problem." Jack quickly spoke up, settling both his hands on Mac's shoulder and giving him an affectionate shake, effectively rattling the contents of Harry's old leather messenger bag Mac had strapped on. "My brother has probably got enough stuff for three kids. He has the Boy Scout motto tattooed on the backside of his eyelids."

"The Boy Scouts definitely didn't know who they were kicking out. Mac is smarter than the lot of them," Bozer said in a way that spoke more to his allegiance to his buddy than a kid trying to be snarky, but Mac still winced.

"I wasn't kicked out, Boze," Mac corrected, sounding offended by the other boys attempt at support. "I quit because of a conflict of interests."

"It was a conflict alright," Bozer mumbled through cinnamon roll. "Danny's fist conflicting with your eye."

"Wilt." Mr. Bozer said in that particular low 'dad' tone that warned of definite dire consequences. "Don't talk with your mouth full, son."

"Sorry." Bozer shrugged, taking another huge bite of pastry that Jack wasn't sure indicated his ravenous growing boy appetite or if the kid was just trying to keep his mouth from getting him into more trouble.

Bozer's dad gave Jack a 'what are you going to do' look followed by another wide smile. "So, I gather you're not going on the field trip today either? I'm guessing some of the PTA will be disappointed."

He nodded to a group of parents gathered near the sign in table-mostly women. Thanks to Mac's promptness, he and Jack had been the first ones there and had already gotten checked in by Mr. Ericson before any other kids arrived. Jack didn't miss the fact that several of the mothers including Abigail had already donned colorful name badges proclaiming them volunteers. They were not so subtly casting hopeful glances in Jack's direction.

"I wasn't sure I'd be in town when the big day rolled around." Jack couldn't help but to be more than a little grateful that his work schedule was so unpredictable in that moment. "I didn't want to take a spot someone else might fill and then not show."

"I hate when I have to be on call on Saturdays." Bozer's father seemed to see through Jack's feigned disappointment. He glanced at the boys. "I'm sure these two will mind after one another just fine."

"I got it covered, dad," Bozer assured with confidence.

"Just like you had breakfast covered," Mac not so kindly reminded the other ten year old. Bozer merely took another bite of the food they had provided him.

"Thank you again, Jack," Mr. Bozer said reaching out to shake Jack's hand. He gave him a sturdy pat on the back. "I can pick Mac up this evening when I pick up Wilt if you'd like. Save you a trip into town. Give you a chance to enjoy some of your down time. Mac says you've been gone for a while."

"That's kind of you, but I don't mind," Jack spoke up quickly, his hand settling on Mac's shoulder once again. He suddenly felt more than a little guilty for not having signed up for the trip, but he also didn't particularly want to go ask if there was still room for him to go on the bus as he had a feeling Abigail and the others would insist on finding a place for him, possibly as the melty middle of a mini-van mom sandwich. Jack gestured to Bozer. "We'll be glad to give Boze a ride back. We may even pick up a pizza and grab a movie. Give you and Mrs Bozer some alone time."

"Yes, please." Bozer flashed his father a pleading look, practically bouncing up and down on his toes. Jack realized his guilt was definitely getting the better of him. A sugared up Bozer was a hell of a penance to pay. He'd probably be contending with a potential sleepover, which would mean another early morning.

"How about we get you signed in before we decide how you're getting back." Mr. Bozer steered his son towards the table of teachers, telling Jack he'd let him know about the offer once he saw how his day shaped up and barring any impromptu phone calls from Mr. Ericson concerning inappropriate behavior. The last part was most assuredly added for his son's benefit.

"I'll be fine, Jack." Mac's voice reclaimed his brother's attention. Jack hadn't realized he was still gripping the kid's shoulders but the ten year old gave a knowing frown when their eyes met. "I'm almost eleven. We're just going to the museum."

"I hear you, tough guy." Jack let him go, tugging on the front of his brother's Dodger's jacket. He resisted the urge to zip it up against the morning chill, knowing his brother didn't have Bozer's tolerance for such poor parenting protocol. Mac seemed to read his thoughts, or maybe sensed his shift in mood. Either way, the ten year old seemed to understand that Jack was having second thoughts about letting him go on the field trip into the city alone, at least without his personal supervision. Jack cleared his throat, nodding to the messenger bag that hung at Mac's side. "You sure you got everything you need in case of emergencies tucked away in there?"

"I've got everything," Mac assured, patting the worn leather. He held Jack's gaze as if he were the older brother trying to offer assurance to a younger sibling. "And a whole group of teachers to keep an eye on me, including Mr. Ericson, who has eyes in the back of his head, and on the sides. It's freaky. Just ask Boze, who manages to get caught doing something he shouldn't every day."

"I know that, but I'm your Overwatch." Jack glanced to where Mac's favorite teacher was standing along with the group of volunteers, all of whom had more experience in the field of parenting than he could ever hope to garner. He was being ridiculous. It wasn't like he was sending his kid brother off to sweep a mine field in the freaking badlands of Afghanistan. As if he would ever let that happen. The ten year old was going on a sanctioned field trip to a place he loved, with a teacher who adored him. At his point, it was looking as if Mac would be the one with an unwanted helicopter parent hanging out in his dorm room.

"What's an Overwatch?" Mac asked, fiddling with the strap on his watch. It was the one his father had sent him for Christmas, the one Jack had reluctantly bought a new band for so the kid could wear it. Mac hadn't taken it off since.

"It's a military term," Jack explained, unable to identify the source of anxiety that crept over him as he watched the big yellow bus lumber into the parking lot. He forced his eyes from the group of students mulling together, refusing to scan the perimeter in his hyper aware state. Instead he met Mac's gaze. "It's a tactical move where one person takes a position to cover another member of his team, keeping an eye out for any and all means that might prove a threat to the other person. Overwatch is all about protecting the guy you're assigned to, brother."

"Like a buddy system?"

"Sort of."

A hint of dimple played at Mac's cheek. "Then you'll be glad to know the teachers always make us use the buddy system when we're on field trips. Bozer will be my Overwatch today."

"Bozer's a good friend, but like I said, kiddo, I'm always going to be your Overwatch. I got my orders straight from mom about ten years back and I'm not stepping down anytime soon." Jack couldn't help himself this time. He ran a hand over his brother's hair with an exhale of breath, unable to hide his concern. He tried to convince himself he was just tired, his emotions headier thanks to the lingering effects of a mild concussion. His counselor at the VA had told him time and again that it was completely normal to be more protective of those he cared for. Civilian life didn't dim all the senses of a soldier, but instead, often seemed to amp them up. Jack wasn't so sure if Freddy would be so calm about Jack's sudden desire to grab Mac and head for home, shelter down with the kid on a permanent basis.

Mac cut him some slack, not even pulling away or rolling his eyes. He merely gave a nod, actually leaning into Jack's side in a move to obviously offer some sort of comfort and support. It meant a great deal considering Mac didn't often overtly seek physical contact. "I know you'll always protect me, Jack, but this is just a school trip. Nothing bad is going to happen. I'll be okay."

Jack wanted to argue the point, to remind his brother about the accidents on the freeway, the random drive by shootings in LA, even unpredictable weather patterns, but how many times had he said similar words to Mac when he was headed off to combat. Five year old Angus had bravely held back the tears that first time at the airport, even managed to salute as Jack walked away. The kid's trembling lip had almost been the twenty year old's undoing, but he'd made it through security, and headed to the tarmac. Mac had let Jack go, every single time and Jack had no right to hold him back now. It was a freaking field trip for crying out loud.

"You're kind of acting like 'Captain Worst Case Scenario' again."

And just like that Mac was back to being his smart-mouthed self, which somehow halted Jack's downward emotional spiral, shielded him from the looming 'what if's' fear liked to cast a spotlight upon.

Jack snorted, running a hand down his face. He'd told his brother to let him know when he was getting paranoid, and Mac wasn't one to pull punches. "I think you mean Captain Best Big Brother Ever, dude."

"Whatever makes you feel better, man." Mac's grin had also returned and he pulled off a decent imitation of a Dalton cocky smirk. He even punched Jack on the shoulder. "Whatever it takes."

"How about I just take back the ten dollars I coughed up for the gift shop?" Jack reached his hand out, but Mac dodged him just as one of the parent volunteers blew their whistle to signal it was time to line up.

"I'll be sure to save your change." Mac flashed another grin before quickly starting off.

"Yeah, right. I won't hold my breath," Jack shot back.

Mac continued to walk towards the group but cast Jack one more glance. "Love you, Jack."

"Love you back, brat." Jack raised a hand, watching the kid until he was safely with the others, Bozer by his side. He stayed until Mr. Ericson and the parents had herded the class up the steps and into their seats. Jack remained planted in place until the bus made its way out of the middle school lot, red tail lights glowing, a rousing chatter and wave of spontaneous laughter echoing in its wake.

In less than six hours it would be Jack Wyatt Dalton who would get a frantic phone call from Mr. Ericson.

Jack would then all too easily understand why in that very moment as he watched the bus pull away that every one of his muscles twitched to chase after it, why all his well-honed instincts demanded he not lose sight of his brother. Looking back he would come to recognize his inaction, the choice to stand down and chalk it all up to overprotectiveness on his part, as his first, worst great mistake as Angus MacGyver's Overwatch.

To be continued...

A/N/N: The counselor I mention, Freddy, belongs to the amazing Gaelicspirit. If you haven't read her fics...DO IT! Also, Boxer belongs to the amazing Gib! If you haven't read her pre-series universe with our boys in Afghanistan...DO IT!


	2. Chapter 2

Love Wins

By: Ridley

A/N: This is so long in between updates. I started this story last April! It is in my For Family AU. If you have not read Fireflies in the Rain, this will make no sense. My suggestion is that you re-read chapter one of Love Wins also before continuing with this one. I had to do so a couple of times to re-orient myself to what the heck was happening. For those who have so sweetly inquired, for the foreseeable future, I will only be writing in my AU's as I haven't watched the show since Jack left and feel I have little to offer in the way of tags. I hope you enjoy this, but be mindful there could be triggers. I write about the loss of a beloved parent to cancer, and the kidnapping of a child. Don't worry for those like myself who are squeamish at heart and highly sensitive to certain situations. My writing is _**never**_ going to get past PG 13.

RcJ.

There is a scene that keeps repeating in Jack's head as he sits in the back of the black SUV alongside Matilda Weber as they barrel through LA traffic heading to some location unknown to him. It's one he hasn't thought about in years. One that is as painful as it is treasured.

He keeps it hidden deep in the recesses of his memories like a wary pirate with buried treasure in his backyard because although it is precious, it is also dangerous. Once uncovered it is blindingly beautiful, shining light on old wounds, gouging at still tender spots that make Jack squirm, yearning for a trip to Colton's with the intention of ordering shots until the sharp, cutting edges of it are dulled by the buffer of alcohol. The remembered pain beckons his old, good for nothing buddies like a beacon, bidding them to come close and get reacquainted. Jack can't afford friends like Jim Bean and Jack Daniels anymore. His life has changed so much in the past months. He has a brother to consider. One who now relies on him to take care of him full time. At least he hopes that is still the case.

The thought of Mac being lost to him is like hitting replay on the vivid recollection. And it begins again.

It is from the time when his mother was in the hospital, near the end. Just the thought of those months, after the climax of the battle had been fought and unbeknownst to them lost, brings a surge of grief, so heavy and inescapable that it physically curls on his chest like a hundred pound purring cat that is no way comforting but instead makes it hard to breathe. He briefly wonders if Matty senses the way his breath catches because she shifts in her seat. Jack clears his throat, his gaze drifting out of the window, but the passing buildings and cars are only a background blur for the real scene.

What he sees clearly in his mind's eye is from a day when things had still seemed hopeful, even though the acute myelogenous leukemia had seemed to have its way with his mother. She was a shell of her former self thanks as much to the treatment she was receiving as to the voracity of the disease she was fighting, but still it had been having one of her rare good days when color even rose to her sunken and sallow cheeks, her light blue eyes not as dulled, but alight with their typical intelligence and humor. Jack had actually been persuaded by her ribbing about his questionable academic standing to attend his afternoon class at the community college, leaving Mac at the hospital with a promise he'd treat them all to their favorite cheeseburgers from Mama Colton's when he returned.

He'd barely paid attention through class, his eyes going to the clock more often than to the notes on the board, rushing off as soon as the professor dismissed them despite the conversation attempted by the cute redhead he'd once chatted up at the beginning of the semester. Picking up burgers and making it back to the hospital before the doctor's rounds seemed the only goal worth accomplishing, the only one surmountable or honorable of this attention. Jack had gotten buttermilk pie to boot and was only thinking of how it would make both his mother and little brother smile when he'd rushed for the room. He wasn't entirely certain what had made him draw up short, hesitate outside the partially opened door, but he'd done so, still panting slightly from the rush through the long corridor.

Maybe it was the last golden rays of sunlight that had streaked through the window like a spotlight on his mother's hospital bed to play up the bright colors of the scarf wrapped around her head, or the way the beams made Mac's blond hair appear to glow. It could have been the look on their mom's face, completely unguarded and unabashed as she regarded her youngest son who sat curled beneath her bony arm, his back pressed into her concave chest as he colored in her journal, the one she'd taken to writing in every evening, the one she coaxed her nurses and doctors to scribble in as well. Ever the teacher.

The effect on her smooth, pale face was ethereal, her fine features appearing almost marble, as if she were being transformed into one of the stone angel sculptures that stood in the Catholic Church Nana Beth drug them to on Christmas Eve, despite none of them being Catholic. It was likely that what truly brought Jack to a complete heartbreaking stop, was that in that very moment he saw and understood the terrible truth. She was lost to them.

Even though her heart was still beating beneath the thin flowered gown, and she was still breathing with only the aid of the cannula beneath her nose, she had so obviously accepted her fate. Their mother looked resigned and beaten. Done for. Jack forgot how to breathe.

"What color is love, mommy?" Mac's voice had every bit of its typical inquisition, but was quieter than normal. Jack barely heard it over the beeping of the machines monitoring their mother's vitals and the background noise of the corridor. If it had been any other voice, one Jack wasn't so in tune to listening for, he'd missed the inquiry all together.

"Why do you ask?" Their mother's weakened voice held a hint of amusement.

"I want to draw a picture of it," his brother explained, frowning thoughtfully.

"Love doesn't have a particular color or features, Angus. It's like drawing the wind."

Mac had stopped what he was doing, glancing up then. "How would I draw the wind?"

"Well, I suppose you'd have to consider of all the ways you know the wind is near and incorporate them into your drawing." A smile played around her mouth.

"I see the leaves and branches moving in the trees," Mac offered quickly.

"Exactly. What else?"

"I feel it on my face when we go to the beach."

"I love the beach." Jack could see her smile changing, her chapped, peeling lips quavering as the game took a melancholy turn, if only for her.

"It makes the sails on daddy's boat billow and your hair fly everywhere." Even from across the room, Jack could see his little brother's face pink, his smattering of freckles standing out like they always did when he was embarrassed or feeling guilty. He must have worried the statement about their mother's hair, which had once been long, lustrous and the color of sun-warmed wheat, might hurt her feelings seeing as it had all been taken by the first treatments. Even at five, Mac had an uncanny sensitivity that was endearing, but also left him vulnerable to be hurt by the not so careful considerations of his schoolmates. "At least it used to," he muttered.

"I remember." Their mom laughed, running a hand over Mac's hair. "Now the wind would make my scarf dance in mid-air." She picked up an end of the silk material and fluttered it, trailing it across Mac's cheek.

"Like a kite." Mac nodded, his enthusiasm returning with her reaction.

"A soaring kite is an excellent way to show the wind without actually showing it, sweetheart."

"So if I were going to make a picture of the wind, I could draw daddy's boat in the water with the sails full. He would be driving. Jack would be fishing off the bow, and waving at me and you because we're on the beach flying a kite with our dog, Archimedes." Mac looked up at her. "You'd have your scarf on, but I'd also draw your hair, too, even longer and prettier because Jack says it will grow back."

Jack winced from his hidden position, wondering at whether he was wrong to promise his brother such a small thing, let alone the ideas he'd given him that their lives would soon be back to normal, that they'd go to the beach again, go on picnics in the park. Take another vacation as a family.

"I think that would be a perfect masterpiece." Their mom reached out and tickled Mac, his laughter vanquishing Jack's dark thoughts. "But we don't have a dog, Angus."

"But we might someday." Mac's voice was hopeful, and Jack swallowed thickly, blinking back the burning behind his eyes. Tortured by how their lives had changed so damn fast.

"Someday." She planted a kiss on his head. "Of course."

"But right now I want to draw a picture of how much I love you."

"Then it's a good thing for you that the wind and love have a lot in common. They are both invisible to the eye, but we know they're present when we feel them, when we see the actions they inspire."

"Like when you hold my hand and hug me?" Mac queried brightly. "Or when you and daddy dance in the kitchen and he kisses you. Your cheeks get really pink. Does love make your face hot?"

"If it's real, then yes, it most definitely can. It can make your heart accelerate, or even give you gooseflesh." She trailed a finger up his arm and again Mac giggled again. "Mostly it makes you feel warm. And safe. Sheltered and protected."

"Like now." Mac curled closer, beaming up at her. Jack felt his chest tighten as he noticed his mother's eyes brighten. He swallowed thickly, startling when someone walked past him, his concentration only focused on the conversation in the room. He went so far as to bend to look inside the bags he was holding as if he were checking to make sure he hadn't forgotten something as a means of explaining his hovering in the hallway.

"Yes, son. Just like now."

"Then I'll draw us together like this."

"Except maybe put us at home." Jack looked up to see his mom rest her chin on Mac's head, pull him closer, her eyes drift shut. "In the back yard, with our someday dog. I like the name Archimedes. Let it be summer time." Her voice was quiet, but held an edge of desperation that kept it from being entirely dreamy. The palpable yearning made Jack's heart hurt, made him want to punch someone or yell and scream at the unfairness of it all. His mother would never go home again. Never see another summer. Of that, he was suddenly quite certain. And it gutted him. "We're reading a book in my favorite chair, while Jack and your father argue over who should grill the burgers."

Jack was afraid he was drawing concerned looks from the nurse's station. Kim, his mother's nurse, kept glancing his way as he hesitated outside the door, looking, no doubt, on the verge of breaking down. He brushed his arm over his eyes to erase any traitorous traces of tears. So when he had heard his cue, he had taken it, bursting into the room at that very moment asking if someone had said 'burgers'. It had drawn laughter from both his brother and mom and they'd had their dinner with small talk and joking, like so many other times when James had been away on business.

Later that evening, he and Mac had drawn the picture while their mother napped. They'd created a colorful scene, their entire family, including their grandparents, JP, Beth and Harry along with their someday dog. All of them together, happy, at home. Jack was no artist, but it did indeed seem to bring love to life on the page. Their mother had oohed and awed over it when she awoke, proudly showing it off to Kim who praised Mac's attention to detail. Mac had been over the moon, but Jack could see the agony in his mom's eyes, the same cornflower blue that Mac had inherited, as she traced the loose rendition of her garden, the crude circle faces of those she loved.

Maybe thoughts of Mac now also being so far from home- held somewhere possibly more terrible and frightening than that of an ICU ward of a hospital-with nothing but a similar ache and longing for home in his heart was what brought the images to mind. Torturous thoughts of his little brother wanting nothing more than to be reunited with those he loved-those that were supposed to protect him-could have easily unearthed the old memory. Their parallels were undeniable. Jack wasn't superstitious but couldn't help to worry it was some sort of portent or omen, that like their mom, Mac wouldn't ever return home.

"Jack!"

Matty's sharp voice had him blinking, turning from the window, glancing to his handler who had turned in the seat next to his so that she was facing him. From the atypical look of concern on her face it was possible she'd spoken to Jack several times, trying to get his attention.

He didn't speak, only blinked, waiting for the agony of his musings to dissipate but also not trusting his voice yet.

"Are you okay? I called your name three times." She frowned.

It was a ridiculous question and they both knew it. Jack was tempted to turn to the window once more but something about the rare earnestness in her tone stopped him.

"You're wondering how I'm dealing with the fact that everyone around me has been lying to me for months, hell, in my step father's case, possibly years?"

Her expression was not unkind. "I was referring more to the fact we found Mac's shoe and jacket, but I suppose the revelations are forever intertwined."

"Having my little brother's wet shoe and bloody clothes handed to me is far worse, but yeah, they both rank as things I'd never expected when this fucking day started." Jack ran a hand over his face, feeling the two-day growth of beard. He'd barely slept since Mac had been taken and had only showered because his Nana had pleaded with him. Her and JP had flown into LA after Mac hadn't been found on that first night. Shaving, unlike eating and bathing, was not part of her hard negotiations so he'd not bothered with the razor. Jack narrowed his gaze at Matty, once more overcome with the need to rip someone's throat out. "How long have you known James?"

"Almost ten years now."

"Shit." Jack shook his head, his hand unconsciously curling into a first. That was close to the time Mac had been born. "So he is an agent?"

"Not for the CIA. Not anymore. He's the director of a different organization." Matty held his dark gaze.

"But he was? In the CIA?" Jack couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea of his intelligent, well-mannered step father as a covert agent. He was still getting used to the idea of Sarah being recruited by the CIA.

"He was when he brought me into The Company straight out of college."

"That means he was probably _in_ The Company when he married my mom. Wasn't he?" Jack's brows draw together, eyes hardening. He felt a sudden post mortem protectiveness on his mother's behalf.

"James MacGyver's story is not mine to tell, Jack." Matty's determined scowl was not a favorable forecast for her being forthcoming. "If you want to know the specifics, you'll have to ask him yourself."

"Considering his track record with the truth, you really think he's going to shoot straight with me. He's a liar." Jack's voice held a sharp edge, his jaw working.

Matty folded her arms over her chest, leaning back in her seat. She glanced to the plastic partition separating them from the driver and then refocused on Jack, seemingly satisfied that they wouldn't be overheard. "If you really want my opinion of the man, I think Jim probably fell into the same trap a lot of agents fall into."

"And which one is that?" Jack groused, raising a brow.

"The one where they convince themselves they can have their cake and eat it, too. That 'normal' is not out of the range of possibility if they spin everything just right, and keep all the plates balanced perfectly. The career is possible, as well as the white picket fence, a spouse, two point five kids and all that apple pie with a cherry on top." She tilted her head, her look turning pointed. "I've seen it happen to a lot of men."

"Something you would never do?" He ventured.

Her eyes widened, but she quickly hid the reaction with a smirk. "I'm smarter than most men. Take you for instance. Weren't you willing to try the same thing?"

"I didn't join the CIA as a career move, Matilda. It's not some kind of dream job for me." Yes, Jack had kept Harry and his grandparents in the dark as to his real work for The Company, but he saw it as no different than keeping top secret intel of a mission in confidence. He wasn't allowed to say what he did for the CIA. "You know that better than anyone. I agreed to this offer to get me out of the damn desert because my kid brother's dad had abandoned him and he needed me."

"Selective information was a part of your life even before you were a spy, Jack. I've seen your redacted files," Matilda reminded him, her eyes meeting Jack's once more. "You can't tell me that your grandparents knew about your certain skillset in Delta. I'm not saying how James went about this was upfront or fair, but don't be a hypocrite."

"You're comparing top secret clearance I had in Delta, with living a double life, Matty." Delta operators often went by codenames or their first names only as a way of protecting themselves and those they loved from retribution for some of the missions they pulled. He would not apologize for the means he'd taken to keep his family from harm's way. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze still icy. "My grandparents might not have understood what my exact wheelhouse was as a soldier, but they at least knew I was in the Army. They were aware of where I was, generally anyway if not specific locales and why I had gone away. No one had a clue James MacGyver was a freaking spy. My mom thought he was in in sales for some sort of science-based corporation. She thought their love of science was something they had in common. We believed he was hocking beakers and Bunsen burners, setting up state of the art labs at universities across the country, not passing secret intel and globe-trotting for the government."

Jack hated that her logic poked holes in his defense. He knew he was guilty to some degree of doing the same thing James had done, but he was also aware that he'd been put in that position by his step father's intentional duplicity. The man had been pulling strings from behind the curtain. Taking on the role of a grand puppet master.

"Perhaps its apples and oranges," Matty sighed, relaxing a bit more against the seat. "But even you can't deny the situations are in the same fruit basket. You're fooling yourself if you think that what you've done in the name of your country and what James MacGyver has done to protect his family have no overlap."

"I'm not a civilian! I have top secret clearance." Jack growled, his anger bubbling to the surface as the depths of his step father's betrayal set in. "He could have told me what he was doing, who he was. If not when I was in the Army, then before he pulled me into this situation, placing me like a freaking chess piece on some game board he'd set. He's been hiding in the shadows this whole time, when he didn't have to, all the while Mac needed him." While Jack had needed him.

She didn't have a quick comeback or defense, and Jack was sure he saw a hint of regret in her dark eyes. It was quickly replaced by her unreadable poker face and he shook his head. His so called support group were all talented liars.

"I understand discretion and need to know, Matilda. But James _abandoned_ his little boy, letting Mac think he'd done something to make him leave. **You** have no idea what my brother has been through because of James. "Jack clenched his fists, barely able to keep his temper in check. "And now he's been taken by some sociopath hit man bent on revenge. He's a little kid. James's first job was to be a father. He promised my mother on her death bed."

"Maybe in James's mind that's what he was doing."

"I don't believe that." As much as Jack would like to buy into that story, if only for Mac's sake-maybe a bit for his own- he couldn't. It didn't ring true. James had chosen to wreck their family and despite whatever reasons behind his deception, there would never be a world in which Jack could accept the sweeping collateral damage it had caused as acceptable, let alone honorable or self-sacrificing.

"His excuses mean nothing to me at this point. The only thing I want from him is answers to where my brother is and how he plans to get him back. If he can't give me that and something happens to Angus, then you're going to get an up close experience of my particular skillset you read about in all those redacted mission files." Jack's voice was hard, his eyes cold. He meant every damn word.

Matty wisely chose not to comment, but the grim look on her face told Jack all he needed to know. She was an expert at reading people, knowing when they were lying or bluffing. The rare worry that reflected in her dark gaze alerted that she understood he wasn't blowing smoke. Any other time the revelation might have surprised them both, or at least given Jack a moment's pause. After all, he loved James. Or at least he had. Now every good feeling, all the happy memories he had of the man were not only tainted by the trying times after Jack's mother's death, but by the ultimate act of betrayal that had left Mac once again wounded in its wake. No. Any rationalization James contrived would not erase what had been done.

RcJ

It turned out that Jack hadn't needed to worry about his step father's offering of platitudes or attempts at pleading his case. In fact, James seemed in no way apologetic as Jack and Matty stood facing him in the large room they'd been brought to after entering the sleek office building on the outskirts of Los Angeles, the one that proclaimed itself some sort of foundation called DXS. Matilda had explained it was actually an off the books network, the kind the CIA, FBI and others turned to when their hands were tied, that passed itself off as a think tank, competing with some of the top researchers in the world and specializing in robotics and artificial intelligence. Jack had heard rumors of such clandestine operations, those who worked parallel to those well known in the information game, but hadn't given them much consideration. The space they were in now however garnered his attention. It had frosted windows, numerous computers, a wall-sized screen, along with large leather furniture and a conference table.

"It's good you're here." James spoke as they moved to the center of the room and their escort left them alone, as if they'd merely been summoned for a debriefing.

"I wish I could say the same for you." Jack's stomach churned as he eyed the man before him. He'd ran countless scenarios about their possible reunion. In most of them, Jack punched his step father before he had a chance to speak one word. Now, he was surprisingly torn between doing just that and actually hugging the bastard. He'd not expected to be relieved to see James in person, to feel anything such as the unexpected tug on his emotions. And he hated it. He preferred indignant anger to any kind of boyish notions of hope and relief.

"I know you're angry with me," James said firmly, his expression vacant of emotion, "but I think we can both agree, at least for the time being, that Angus has to be our priority. The rest can wait."

"Now Angus is your priority?" Whatever warmth Jack had felt was quickly cooling, he let his fingers curl into fists once more. "Excuse me if I'm wrong, but my brother, our family, hasn't been your main concern in a long, damn time. Hell, maybe it never was. I bet my mother, the grieving widow with a teenage son, made one hell of a good cover for a spy."

Jack knew everyone on his team seemingly had a normal life waiting for them at the end of each mission. Sarah was a law intern. Frank, her lawyer boyfriend. Hell, even Clay Craddock was a broker with a rich fiancé he often bragged was willing to buy his story of frequent business trips for the good of his lucrative company and an impressive libido. Jack had never really thought about the lies it took to keep all of it straight. Not even the ones he let fly when Harry inquired about one of his 'flights' out of the country, but now it seemed so insidious and extremely personal. He clenched his fists, keeping his arms tight against his side.

"I'm guessing it was a marriage of convenience and adding a baby to the mix was just one more stich in a well-sewn disguise. Isn't that right?"

"Jack." Matty warned but Jack ignored her, eyes trained on James.

James's face colored and Jack took some satisfaction in the spark of raw emotion he recognized in the man's dark eyes. Whatever James was feeling- whether it be some form of regret, unlikely hurt or more than likely a rebuff that his authority was being challenged- his voice stayed inflectionless. "Do you really want me to take the time to answer that question or would you rather discuss the man who has your brother?"

"Let's be clear on this, the only thing-and I mean _only_ thing I care about is my brother." If Jack were honest he would have to admit that the revelation that James was not missing, but was in fact somehow intertwined with his current job had been a temporary distraction. The white hot fury it invoked was far preferable to the foreign terror he'd been plagued with since Mac went missing. He'd never felt anything like the 'not knowing' where his brother was or what was happening to him. Not when he'd lost his dad as a kid, not when he'd first learned of his mother's diagnosis and even the one time he'd been captured by the Taliban and had no idea what they were going to do to him. Focusing on his stepfather's act had been more palatable than drowning in his thoughts of the torturous acts he couldn't help to imagine happening to his baby brother, the ones he imagined as bad as what he'd endured in his time in captivity.

"Then we're on the same page and you'll be happy to know I received proof of life not more than four hours ago." James wasted no time in turning to the screen behind him. He moved to a huge computer terminal only a few steps away and it wasn't long before an image appeared. Jack might have been impressed with the state of the art technology if not for being instantly mesmerized by the photo of his little brother. Mac was sitting in a chair, his face looking straight at the camera, drawn and defiant. Jack recognized the shirt he'd been wearing the day of the field trip, the one he loved that Harry had found him with all the major constellations outlined on the front. His face was dirty, there was a faint bruise on his cheek that had Jack's heart racing, an anger far hotter than the one he'd found for James ignited as he traced a small amount of blood from the kid's hair line. A red stain on the golden strands, which in no way glowed or shone in the dark room he was being kept in.

"You see the paper." James pointed to the USA Today Mac was holding, and when he did, Jack was certain his stepfather's hand had trembled. "The date is correct and the headlines match the ones that were in this morning's edition."

"Where did this come from?" Matty asked, moving closer to the screen. "Were there any demands?"

"It came to the email of one of my aliases. Bernard Huck." James gave a heavy exhale and at this moment he looked weary. Much older than his actual years. "Nothing was sent with it."

Jack grimaced at the unfortunate moniker. "Does that have any significance as far as this Nicholas Helmand guy is concerned?"

"No." James shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not that I can think of. I have analysts combing over my files, but so far nothing stands out about that mission. I had no contact with Helmand until much later in my career when he was sent to carry out a contract on Jonah."

"Who the hell is Jonah?" Jack asked. His gaze flickering between James and the image of his brother.

"My partner in the field. He's watched my back for years and now that I'm Director of DXS, he heads up our tactical division," James explained with visibly restrained patience as if the minute detail wasn't important to what he was explaining. It probably wasn't, but Jack was tired of letting his step father decide what was pertinent to share. "You actually met him once, but likely don't remember."

"Why is that?" Jack was stubborn, folding his arms over his chest, mirroring James's posture. "Was he in disguise? Did you try and pass him off as one of your salesmen buddies?"

"No, Jack." James sighed. "It was at your mother's funeral."

"It could be Helmand's way of throwing us off a real scent," Matty swooped in to break the moment and Jack was grateful, as a hundred different memories rushed over him at the mention of the awful day they put his mother in the ground, none of them offering any clarity on Walsh, but succeeding to stir his gloom and doom from earlier. "Were any of the DXS techs able to procure information about the computer that sent this?" She continued, glancing from James to the computer screen and back.

"No and we're not surprised." James shook his head, a dark look briefly flickering in his eyes before his stoic mask settled into place. "We know that HIT has not only organized a league of top contract killers but has also amassed a 'Geek' squad of sorts. Hackers, from self-taught adrenaline junkies who get off on cracking the hardest systems to some of the brightest prodigies straight out of MIT. Their skills seemingly match or in this case possibly exceed that of our own."

"What about your own prodigy, the teenager you bragged about snatching out from under the FBI?" Matty asked, raising a brow.

"Teenager?" Jack frowned. "DXS hires kids?"

"Not exactly." James glanced at Jack. "Nikki is brilliant on a keyboard. A seventeen-year-old freshman at MIT that I've enrolled in a special internship." James made finger quotes in the air as he said internship. "Unfortunately she's had no luck so far, but she's not one to give up."

"What about security footage from around the area Mac was taken?" Jack tried, feeling tentacles of desperation attempt to strangle the life out of the tiny sliver of hope he'd allowed himself when he'd been summoned by James. Despite his shock and anger he'd not completely dismissed his handler's advice that James was the one man who could turn their situation around. "Surely your sources have found out more than LA county police and the local FBI."

"Jonah has been overseeing a tactical unit, investigating every possible lead we've had. Trust me when I say he is the best operative in the field. So far, nothing has panned out or given a clue as to Helmand's whereabouts." James rubbed a hand over his forehead. "It's like he fucking vanished."

Jack's gaze went back to the picture of his kid brother, taking every inch of the image. The area showed no windows, no change in light in any area that suggested there were adjacent openings. It appeared for all pretenses to be a metal building, possibly a storage unit. Mac was sitting on a wooden stool, holding the paper. Jack searched his face, trying to distance himself from the emotional response it spurned. The fear he imagined he could register in the boy's blue eyes. Travelling from Mac's bruised face he studied the paper, and that's when he noticed it. Mac held each corner of the paper with thumb and forefinger but on the right side of the paper where there was a small inset advertising a story from the business section, the ten-year-old had extended a pinky finger, pointing to the small bold-faced headline.

"Can you zoom in on that corner." Jack pointed at the photograph, and James frowned but punched a few keys on the keyboard changing the perspective of the image.

"Look at Mac's finger. He's pointing to that headline." Jack's heart picked up rhythm, his pulse rabbiting as he was certain his brother had not merely extended the lone digit by happenstance. "It's talking about ConAngra Foods and their lobbying against the Oregon Ballot Measures 27."

"Okay," Matty said gently as if Jack had lost his mind. "You think that Mac is maybe trying to tell us that he's in Oregon?"

"No." Jack shook his head, feeling jittery all of the sudden as if all the coffee he'd drunk on an empty stomach that morning was just now kicking in. "I think he might be telling us he's in Colorado."

"Wait." James's brow furrowed in confusion, raising a questioning brow at Jack. "How could you possibly extrapolate that suggestion from …"

"Because," Jack interrupted. "If you'd been around the last few months you'd know that Mac did a huge science project on the shelf life of freaking Twinkies and Slim Jim's. I've had to sneak Slim Jim's to keep from hearing one of his lectures about how bad they are for me. ConAgra is one of the main players in trying to block a bill that would have genetically modified ingredients listed on packaging. Mac demanded me and Harry boycott all their products and refused to go to the Dodgers game a few weeks back because they were playing the Rockies."

"Maybe I'm behind on the food industry but…" Matty started with a frown and more than a hint of skepticism in her tone, but was interrupted by James.

"It's not about food, Matilda." His gaze went to Jack, a small proud smile tugging at his mouth. "It's about baseball and my son being a genius with facts and stats. He never forgets anything."

"Huh?" Matty questioned.

Jack turned to his handler to explain his theory. "The Denver Rockies are owned by Charlie Monfort, who used to be CEO of ConAgra Foods until he stepped down to take a more active role in his team. He still holds stock in the company and for that alone Mac thinks he should own some responsibility for ConAgra's attempts to dupe Joe Public for a profit."

"And for that you think this traumatized ten-year-old child is alerting you of his possible location."

Jack knew it sounded like a crazy long shot, and it was possible that it was, but Matilda Weber didn't know Angus MacGyver, not the way he and James knew the kid. "Mac and I had a few go rounds over us not going to the game. I really wanted to see it, because it was one of the few weekend games I've actually been in town for and it's always kind of been our thing." Jack glanced to James, who ducked his head, studying the picture on the screen again.

Baseball was the one thing Jack, Mac, Harry and James often did together. They'd go into LA, to Harry's place. Male bonding, his mother liked to call it. From the time Mac could hold a hot dog, they'd gone together. It was the one tradition they somewhat maintained after her death. Jack blinked away a hot rush of emotion as he remembered his little brother's earnest protests of a few weeks back. "He created a whole presentation just for me to defend his reasoning to boycott the Rockies, even outlining projected profit margins for ConAgra and how it could tie to the team's management."

"He sounds like something else." A small smile graced Matty's lips and Jack wasn't sure if he'd convinced her that it was possible that Mac was indeed clever enough to try and give them a clue or if she was merely assured of Jack's current desperation and possible tendency for delusions due to his lack of proper rest.

"You have no idea," Jack breathed. His brother was one in a million and not just because his mind worked far more like a computer than the typical mind of a ten-year-old.

"I can have our analysts look for any ties to Colorado or Illinois that Helmand might have," James interjected. When both Matty and Jack looked at him in surprise he shrugged. "I know for a fact that ConAgra's headquarters is in Chicago. My boy's not the only one who has a photographic memory."

"I want to be on the team going to Denver." Jack was already three steps ahead. It might be impulsive and a little crazy but he couldn't shake the feeling that he and his little brother were on the same wavelength and that the message was meant for him. Denver was the one connection to ConAgra that Jack would recognize. Colorado was a big state, but if they were in the vicinity, he was that much closer to his brother. Much to his relief James didn't protest.

"You can go with me and Jonah." James briefly lifted his gaze from the keyboard. "I have contacts in Denver. We can set up a temporary base of operations there."

"Craddock and I will cover the Illinois angle." Matty added, seemingly onboard with their longshot. He surmised, that like them, she hated inaction and that a far-fetched lead was better than no lead at all. Jack for one could not spend one more night waiting and praying for a miracle. He'd leave the prayers to his grandmother and spend his time calculating the ways to kill Nicholas Helmand in the most slow and painful ways possible.

To be continued…


End file.
